It's a different kind of art though
One that's only beautiful to the sufferers
& makes sense to only them.
The way a blade can produce so much feeling
Shedding the pain out through red
& getting rid of the numbness.
Such a dangerous beauty
The fact that if you go too deep
You risk losing yourself
To something that kills you yet makes you feel so alive.
Who knew
A tiny piece of metal
Could do so much damage.
Scars traced up and down my thighs, hips, and arms
Each and every time I needed that temporary solution to the pain.
Those who don't understand
Might say I'm crazy
Or I'm not in the right state of mind.
I don't doubt one bit
That I'm not
Or that I'm just addicted.
When you aren't coping in this way
The voices scream, "cut"
The doubt of your strength says, "You know you want to"
& after fighting so much
Either you overcome the urges
Or you give in.
It's a deathly cycle
Between sanity and relief
Whether or not to
Display those red marks across your skin
Or keep them unbroken.
